Look. Really I don’t cook.
Even at uni when all the Swedish guys were turning out lovely food to guarantee their shag I couldn’t be bothered.
Since then I’ve dabbled with a few chilies, and scrambled egg, toast even. In fact quite a lot of toast. But never anything you’d actually call cooking. No sauces, no roast even, actually especially no roast, that looks really hard getting all those bits to be ready at the same time. No wonder most of our grans turn out mushy veg.
But what I do like is cooking up a great curry.
I have every spice I need, and none that I don’t.
I line them up and gradually add a bit of each to the oil before I throw in the onions. I even use those little pod things that seem to go into anything Indian whether savoury or sweet. And fresh chilies, always too many. Then I like using chicken or beef. Although I love lamb in a curry house I never do a very good job of it at home.
And then beer. Lots of beer.
Tonight there’ll be six of us and the flat is already smelling gorgeous.
Though it won’t seem so clever come tomorrow morning!
I don’t do breads or rice, I just get one of the gang to stop off at the Raj down the road on their way here.
Perfect. Just not for girls.